SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops VI - Guantanamo (13 page)

Is there a Paradise? Is it really true? On the other hand, have the Imams and Mullahs invented it to persuade gullible young men to martyr themselves in desperate attacks on the enemies of Islam? How could anyone know? That's the real problem. How do they know?

For the sixth time she looked around for the brutal face, but there was no sign of him.

Have I lost him? But he knows where I study and the address of my apartment, for sure. What should I do, call the cops? No, I know about police. Many of them are in the pay of the cartels. I have to find another way.

She walked around the corner and almost fell into his arms.

An ambush!

"Esperanza," he grinned. She hated that smile, so cocky, so arrogant in the knowledge of the power he possessed, backed by Montez, "It's good to see you again. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me."

"What do you want?"

"Want? Why should I want anything?" He spread his hands wide, "Although, there is something you could do for me." She waited, "I don't get to New York City very often. Why don't you join me for dinner? I thought somewhere at modest, maybe MEGU? It's a Japanese restaurant," he added helpfully.

She knew of MEGU in the Trump Tower. They cooked sushi and other Japanese delicacies, and played host to many of the brokers and power elite in the city. Which was unsurprising, not many others could afford it.

"No, thank you."

"But, Señorita Flores, it would give us a chance to talk things over. We got off on the wrong foot, but who knows, it could be the start of a new relationship. I've always found you attractive. Why, back home in Colombia, I always thought we might get together, you know what I mean," he winked.

She controlled her stomach with an effort. If she ever got near him with a sharp knife in her hand, she'd want to push it into his guts, and to see him lying on the floor, bleeding out like so many of his victims.

"I'm sorry, I'm busy."

His eyes narrowed. "Esperanza, I'm trying to be friendly. You're not helping yourself with this hostility. Why don't you change your mind?"

She glared at him. "After what you've done, you dare to ask me out for a date? I'd sooner see you in hell, Hidalgo. Get out of my way before I call a cop."

His face was cold as he stared at her. "You're making a big mistake. I'll cut to the chase. Where is the USB data stick?"

Her stomach churned with fear, but she kept her gaze steady. "The what? I know nothing of this."

"Your father sent it to you, do you not remember?"

She shook her head. "If he did, it did not reach me. Why is it so important?"

"That is none of your business, but I must have it."

"I cannot help you."

His expression was pure malice. "I've tried to be friendly, but obviously, you don't want to help yourself. Perhaps next time we meet, it won't be so friendly. And you'd better search your memory about that USB stick."

"Is that a threat?"

"I am merely saying it would be good for your health if you gave it to me. And fatal if you do not."

He reached in his pocket, and she thought he was pulling a gun, but instead he came out with an envelope and handed it to her. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the milling crowds.

Trembling with fear, she opened the envelope. There were photos of her family laid out in open coffins. There were more photos of her, entering her apartment, chatting to a friend in the street, and the last image sent a chill through her. It had been taken inside her apartment. Somehow, he had a key. She resolved to change the lock, but she knew it wouldn't keep out a man like Hidalgo. She had to do something else.

A gun? A boy who recently joined my course practices weekends on a range. Maybe he’ll
help, but how can I persuade him? What am I thinking! He’s a loner, so if I can't get his attention, I may as well become a nun. What chance would I have against a skilled gunman like Hidalgo? Still, it would be better than nothing.

She briefly considered going into hiding, but that would mean the end of her life and her education, everything her parents had wanted for her.

No, I won't do it, not for anything. I will fight.

* * *

For the first time they'd had a stroke of luck. A pilot who flew cargoes for both Eva and Rafael was flying north with an empty aircraft, a Cessna 308 Caravan. She could carry nine passengers, maybe more when needed, together with their gear. But not out of any regular airfield, like Cancun International.

They were standing on a patch of ground twenty kilometers inland, where the aircraft was sitting at the end of a rough strip hacked out of the wilderness and scrub. There were heaps of boulders either side of the runway. They looked as if they'd been scraped up and moved aside when someone created the runway. There was even a heap of rusting iron nearby, a massive scrap pile, which looked to have once been a building before it was demolished. In front of them, the pilot carried out his pre-flight checks.

The storm had blown over for now, the rain had stopped, and stars lit up the sky. Enough for them to see the bulky Cessna they were about to fly in. It was immaculate, gleaming, obviously well looked after. It looked nothing like a smuggler aircraft.

Eva picked up the vibe and smiled.

"Adolpho looks after her like she's his baby. I've flown with him many times, and there's no aircraft I'd prefer to fly in."

Brad shook his head in disbelief. "It looks like it just came out of the showroom. Why does he bother, when he flies out of these lousy dirt strips?"

She shrugged. "I guess it's his hobby."

The pilot heard them talking. "You must understand, it's not easy when you can't fly into a proper airfield for repairs and routine maintenance. It means I have to take even more care of my aircraft than usual. Besides, on those occasions when weather forces a landing at a regular airfield, they don't ask too many questions about the paperwork. Not when you look just like a regular Delta or American airliner. Maybe a bit smaller," he grinned.

 
“You do have documentation for the aircraft?" Brad asked, "I mean; you have the annual checks, engine, airframe, that kind of stuff?"

He spread his hands wide and smiled ruefully. “Documentation? Checks? Not exactly, no, I manage it all myself. Much more reliable, and I save money. I get Felipe to help out when there's something I can't handle alone."

"He's a qualified aircraft engineer?" Will asked, getting interested in the aircraft they were intended to fly in.

Adolpho chuckled. "No, no. He fixes the trucks at the local quarry, but he's very clever with all things mechanical. He helps me keep it looking so smart."

"Shit." Brad muttered, "I always wanted to die in a clean aircraft."

The pilot shrugged. "It is time to board. Normally, I would carry cargo to the north, but the Federales seized my goods, and I still need to raise the bribe to get them back. That's why I'm empty, but I have a contract for the return journey, and they'll be waiting for me."

Nolan was tempted to ask who 'they' were, without doubt men who were on the run from US law enforcement. Why else would they fly in an undocumented smuggler's aircraft? Drug dealers, assassins, terrorists the scum of the earth, or maybe they were men like him, Will, Brad, and John-Wesley; except they were on the side of the angels, kind of.

He nodded at the open door. “Let’s get aboard.”

As Will climbed in, he asked the pilot, “Do you have any parachutes on board?”

He smiled. “No, I’m sorry. We had some, but they were stolen. Some of these people are no better than thieves.”

“You don’t say.”

* * *

The flight to Ciudad Juarez was a little less uncomfortable than flying in the belly of a C17 Globemaster, but only just. The pilot had stripped out every last piece of equipment designed to make the journey both safe and comfortable. The idea was to save weight and increase his cargo capacity. It also meant the normal gear carried in an aircraft was absent. That included the seats, lifejackets, oxygen masks; even the light fittings and floor coverings were missing.

Behind the cockpit, the cabin was a bare, gleaming aluminum shell. Clearly, Adopho's pride in keeping his aircraft polished extended to the interior. But there was no way of knowing it if also extended to the engine and airframe. He took off, and they droned on toward Juarez. To his credit, everything functioned as it should, the engine never missed a beat, and after the first thirty minutes they started to relax. Nolan smiled.

Things are sure done differently in Mexico.

They bumped down just outside Ciudad Juarez on a remote, rough packed earth strip, not unlike the one they'd taken off from in Cancun. Adolpho had a Dodge truck with a crew cab parked inside an old shed, and he cranked up the engine to drive them into the town.

As they hit the outskirts, the poverty and desperation became apparent. There was no real industry, save illegal drug dealing. This brought with it the never-ending wars between rival gangs. Wars that spilled over to destroy any prospects the locals may have of living a peaceful and productive life. In Juarez, unless you were one of the fortunate few, you belonged to and fought for a drug gang. Or you starved.

He dropped them off outside a bar, and they managed to persuade the staff to rustle up some food. The waiter, a wrinkled old Mex, hovered over them.

"Tacos, Señores? Or rice and beans?"

Brad winced. "Damn, that's a tough one, tacos or rice and beans? I'll go for the tacos."

"Make that six," Nolan told him, "And make it quick."

"Beer, Señores?"

"Six."

He nodded and walked away.

"We have a big problem. We have to locate the targets, and if they've had help from the local cartels, it may be hard to get information."

"While we're waiting for the food, I will make a call," Vega told him, "Give me a few minutes."

He walked away to use the phone at the end of the bar. They watched him chatting to his contact. At times, he waved his hands, and his expression became angry. Before he finished, the food arrived and they sat enjoying the spicy Mexican delicacy. Eventually, Vega returned, sat down, and took a mouthful of his taco. Then another. They waited while he wiped his mouth, took a swig of beer, and began.

"I called the cops."

Ryder was first, and the knife appeared as if by magic. Vega was unfazed.

"No, no, nothing like that. The man I know, he served with me in Cuba before he escaped and came to Mexico."

"Some escape," Ryder commented with a smirk.

Vega shrugged. "Whatever. But this man has made a good life in the Mexican border guard service. He had been promoted and holds the rank of sergeant. The men we are hunting are here, in Ciudad Juarez, so he believes. At least, they were until recently. They met up with soldiers of the local cartel, who were to lead them across the border, under the border, to be precise. It seems these men have dug a new tunnel, which has so far remained undiscovered. He could not find out more. The two cops who helped him said if they breathed a word, they'd be executed. Their families, too."

"Could they have crossed already?"

"I don't know. He doesn't know."

Nolan fixed him with a gaze. "So you're saying you don't know where they are, and you don't know how they plan to cross. Assuming they haven't already crossed, which is entirely possible."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Señor Nolan. I have done my best."

"Yeah, I know." He looked at Eva. "Do you have any ideas? Any contacts or associates in the town?"

She grimaced. "Not live ones. I knew of a couple of people, but the gangs killed both of them a few months ago."

"Roger that."

He sat thinking and picked at his taco, sipping at the beer. There was no doubt they were in a precarious situation, stacking up enemies almost daily. They were wanted men, with a death sentence hanging over their heads in Colombia. At the very least, there'd be a hefty jail sentence if they were picked up in Mexico for illegal entry. They had to move fast, had to track down the Islamists in Juarez. Which meant they needed two things, and they needed them now.

The first was to get out of Mexico and cross the border into the United States. He glanced at Vega. "We need to cross. Can you fix it up with your man?"

"Yes, I can do that. It will mean another bill for the CIA."

"Whatever. Set it up for tonight." The second and more important was intel on the escapers. There was only one man he could think of who may be able to help. He got to his feet.

"I'm going outside. I need to make a call on the satphone."

He went out back, took out the card and read the details, then punched in the number. After a few seconds, he heard the familiar voice.

"Evers."

"Nolan. We need your help."

"Aw, gee, listen, man. I'm sorry, real sorry for what happened back there. I just don't know what came over me. If there's anything…"

"Don't sweat it. We're still in the game, and right now we your help."

"You do? Where are you?"

He told him.

"Ciudad fucking Juarez! Damn, that's a coincidence. I'm in El Paso, just over the border."